


Cut

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds a good reason to cut his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut

"Dude, seriously, I'm okay," Dean insisted from the passenger seat of the Impala, where he sat holding a bandage to a wound on his head.

"I know," Sam replied quietly.

"Then stop freaking out already."

"I'm not freaking out." Sam drove on toward the hotel, refusing to look over at his brother.

"Yeah, okay," Dean replied, clearly not convinced.

"I'm not. I just..." Sam continued to drive, staring out the windshield at the blank road in front of him. "I'm sorry, Dean. I wasn't fast enough."

"Well, maybe we should get more practice in, but it wasn't your fault. That thing surprised us both, jumping out of nowhere. You shot it as soon as you could."

Yeah, Sam thought, as soon as I could, but not as quickly as I should have. A second sooner, and Dean wouldn't be bleeding. A second later, and the thing would have ripped into Dean's left eye.

Finally, they arrived back at their motel room, and Dean let Sam disinfect the claw marks on his face and apply a fresh bandage now that the bleeding had slowed. Sam stared at the bandaged wound for a minute, watching a spot of blood seep through the white fabric next to Dean's eyebrow, and then he turned around and stalked off to the bathroom, muttering something about cleaning up.

In the bathroom, Sam looked at himself in the mirror and blew his bangs out of his eyes with a harsh, angry breath. Stupid, stubborn bastard, he thought. Dean could be blind. Dean could be dead.

With a sudden, jerking movement, he grabbed his shaving kit and dumped the bag out on the counter. Wielding his scissors in one hand, he pinched a section of his bangs in the other hand and pulled it down taut before hacking off nearly an inch. He repeated the process until his bangs were gone, his eyes no longer hidden by the fringe of hair.

The second that he lost out there, the second that got Dean hurt, wasn't because he was out of practice, wasn't because he had been taken by surprise. He lost that second moving his hair out of his face so that he could get a clear shot. I swear, Dean, he thought, glaring down at the scattered clumps of hair in the sink. I swear it will never happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a timestamp [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2158902/chapters/4719555).


End file.
